“Beyond my anxiety and beyond this writing
the universe waits, inexhaustible, inviting”
- Borges

I found this peace sign carved on the broken step. It was last June that I went to a little known seaside for a weekend with my friend. I wasn’t expecting too much fun because I’m not particularly keen about beaches. I prefer the mountains any day. Anyway, this place turned out to be so quaint and desolate, the atmosphere stained with a melancholic beauty that I instantly fell in love with it. It was raining hard when we arrived and the thunder was rumbling over the churning sea that was lashing against the huge cliff over looking the sea. There was hardly any sea. Lightning streaked across the magnificent grey sky and the cliff overlooking the sea was covered with some kind of yellow flowers.
The next day, a watery sun came out and we found that there were a series of steep, broken steps leading to the small strip of beach below. On the way down I discovered this peace symbol carved on one of the steps. The hand in the picture is mine; the picture was taken by my friend. There were lots of curious things we discovered during that weekend, a friendly, adorable pup who cuddled over my feet and fell asleep, a fluffy cat, a couple of women who were drawing Celtic designs on the sand and a mysterious Tibetan shop full of amazing jewelry .
I never stop feeling amazed at the sublime magic that is present everywhere.

‘To be lit up within
vein by vein
to be the sun
- Margret Atwood


Part of the ten book-marks that are going to the library on Friday.

Ars Poetica

To gaze at the river made of time and water
And recall that time itself is another river,
To know we cease to be, just like the river,
And that our faces pass away, just like the water.
To feel that waking is another sleep
That dreams it does not sleep and that death,
Which our flesh dreads, is that very death
Of every night, which we call sleep.
To see in the day or in the year a symbol
of makind’s days and of his years,
To transform the ourtage of the years
Into a music, a rumor and a symbol,
To see in death a sleep, and in the sunset
A sad gold, of such is Poetry
Immortal and a pauper. For Poetry
Returns like the dawn and the sunset.
At times in the afternoon a face
Looks at us from the depths of a mirror;
Art must be like that mirror
That reveals to us this face of ours.
They tell how Ulysses, glutted with wonders,
Wept with love to descry his Ithaca
Humble and green. Art is that Ithaca
Of green eternity, not of wonders.
It is also like an endless river
That passes and remains, a mirror for one same
Inconstant Heraclitus, who is the same
And another, like an endless river.

- Borges

These tiny book-marks will go to the library tomorrow.

A Find

Beyond my anxiety, beyond my writing,
The universe awaits inexhaustible, inviting.

- Borges

Peace rocks

I found this amazing artist from Salt Point who has been painting peace symbols on rocks and leaving them all over the world! Click on the picture to visit her blog, its amazing!

Purple

I was in a hendrixique mood, hence the purple.

Paper Raindrops

Two thumb print bookmarks
Paper raindrops I found under my bed.
A little monsoon I made once.


I love anything to do with rain and clouds – the heady, cloudy, windy sky before a rain, the first small sprinkles, the heavy downpour and the tear-stained face of the day after a heavy shower. I love clouds too, thick cottony ones, the grey one like huge downy cylinders ready to burst, the orange and purple ones crowding a sunset and the dramatic and somehow more haunting version of the clouds – the mists! My dream is to live on the mountains where I can see the mist clinging to tall coniferous trees or floating over the undulating blue peaks everyday.

My awe of rain and clouds manifest as doodles and cut outs that I make all the time. In fact I have a lot of paper clouds and raindrops scattered about my room languishing among my belongings. I found a few yesterday and I think I will turn them into lovely and unique book marks.